Galaxy International Purchasing, LLC v. Tim Skjerseth

Let’s cut right to the chase: a debt collector is suing a man in Oklahoma for $2,501.69 — an amount so specific it sounds like someone added up their Netflix, DoorDash, and one emotionally charged late-night Amazon splurge and then outsourced the guilt to a law firm. This isn’t a heist. It’s not a betrayal. It’s not even a messy breakup with alimony implications. No, this is the legal equivalent of your mom calling to ask why you haven’t paid her back for concert tickets from 2018 — except now there’s a verified statement of counsel and a lien claim, because apparently, that’s how we do things in 2026.

Meet the players. On one side, we have Galaxy International Purchasing, LLC — a name so aggressively generic it could be a front for interstellar trade negotiations or a shell company in a mid-tier spy thriller. In reality, it’s almost certainly a debt buyer, the kind of entity that scoops up defaulted loans for pennies on the dollar from original lenders, then sues to collect the full amount because capitalism said it was okay. They’re represented by RAUSCH STURM LLP, a firm whose website likely has a stock photo of a man in a suit staring intensely at a gavel. Their attorney, Nicholas Tait, is licensed in Oklahoma and, per the filing, signed this petition in Tulsa with the solemnity of someone swearing under penalty of perjury that yes, Tim Skjerseth did fail to pay back $2,501.69. The drama is real. The stakes? Debatable.

Then there’s Tim Skjerseth — a man whose entire legal identity, at least for now, hinges on one unpaid loan and the fact that he once found himself in possession of “valuable consideration” from Cross River Bank. Who is Tim? We don’t know. Is he a small business owner who took out a short-term loan that went sideways? A guy who tried to finance a side hustle selling artisanal pickles online? Or just someone who maxed out a personal line of credit during a rough month and never quite caught up? The filing doesn’t say, and the law firm isn’t exactly offering a character reference. But we do know this: at some point, Tim borrowed money, likely through an online lender (Cross River Bank is a known fintech partner for platforms like Affirm and Bread), and then… didn’t pay it back. The contract was “accelerated,” which is legalese for “you now owe the whole thing immediately because you missed a payment,” and after “all due and just credits applied,” the balance settled at $2,501.69. That number is oddly precise — not $2,500, not “about two and a half grand,” but $2,501.69, which suggests interest, fees, and maybe a $1.69 charge for something labeled “Administrative Processing” that no one ever reads.

So here we are: a lawsuit filed on February 20, 2026, in the District Court of Kay County, Oklahoma — a rural county along the Kansas border where the biggest news usually involves tornadoes or high school football. Galaxy International Purchasing, LLC claims it’s now the rightful owner of Tim’s debt, having acquired it from Cross River Bank like a financial hand-me-down. They’re not asking for punitive damages. They’re not demanding Tim’s firstborn. They just want their money — $2,501.69, plus court costs, post-judgment interest (which means the debt keeps growing even after a ruling), and, curiously, a request for the Oklahoma Employment Security Commission to hand over Tim’s employment history. That last bit is a little spicy. It suggests Galaxy isn’t just after a judgment — they’re planning to collect it, possibly through wage garnishment, and they want to know where Tim works so they can go after his paycheck. It’s not personal. It’s just business. Cold, clipboard-wielding business.

Now, let’s talk about what’s actually happening in court — or more accurately, what Galaxy wants to happen. Their legal claim? Breach of contract. That’s it. Not fraud. Not theft. Just a straightforward “you signed a thing, you agreed to pay, you didn’t pay, so now we’re here.” In plain English: Tim entered into a loan agreement, probably with a few clicks and a digital signature on a website, got the money, and then stopped making payments. That’s the entire case. No witnesses. No dramatic emails. No evidence of deception. Just a contract, a default, and a paper trail that ends with a law firm in Wisconsin sending demand letters from a toll-free number (1-833-899-0421, in case you’re feeling litigious).

And what do they want? $2,501.69. Is that a lot? Well, it depends. For a debt collection firm, it’s chump change — the kind of number that probably doesn’t even cover their legal fees unless they settle 50 of these a week. For an individual, though? Two and a half grand isn’t nothing. It’s a car repair. A plane ticket. Half a used car. Or, if you’re already struggling, it’s an impossible mountain. But here’s the absurd part: Galaxy is suing over it anyway. They’re spending attorney hours, court filing fees, and administrative resources to chase down a sum that wouldn’t even cover a decent Vegas weekend. And they’re doing it in Kay County, where the median household income is around $50,000 — meaning this debt represents about 5% of someone’s annual take-home. That’s not just aggressive. That’s relentless.

Our take? Look, we’re not here to defend unpaid debts. If you borrow money, you should pay it back. But the sheer banality of this fight is what makes it peak petty civil court. A shell company with a space-themed name is using the judicial system to strong-arm a man over less than three grand, complete with a formal request for his work history like they’re building a dossier for a corporate takedown. Meanwhile, the whole thing is prefaced with the mandatory “this is a communication from a debt collector” disclaimer — as if Tim didn’t already know. It’s dystopian. It’s bureaucratic. It’s the legal version of getting a collection call for a library book you lost in sixth grade.

And yet… we can’t help but wonder about Tim. Did he lose his job? Was there a medical emergency? Did he just plain forget? The filing doesn’t say, and the law doesn’t require it to. But in the grand tradition of CrazyCivilCourt, we’re rooting for the underdog — even if his crime was failing to pay back a fintech loan for a Peloton he never assembled. Because at what point do we say, “Hey, maybe sue less and forgive more”? Or at least wait until the debt is over $5,000 before dragging someone into court? This isn’t justice. It’s paperwork with consequences.

So here’s to Tim Skjerseth — a man whose name is now forever linked to a $2,501.69 dispute in rural Oklahoma. May his employment history remain mysterious. May his credit score recover. And may Galaxy International Purchasing, LLC one day learn the difference between collecting a debt and collecting drama.